The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God’s last *Put out the Light* was spoken.

Acholiland oh acholiland,The once happy mother of proud warriors,To you we wail,For redemption from the fangs of terror,The terror that bleeds us white,The terror that siphons your blood that runs in our veins,

Lambs without a shepherd we remain,Driven away from you into the darkness,Mama we yearn for an end to our misgivings,Oh! Acholiland,

Do you hear us when we call out to you?When our cries run our voices frail,When wantons hunt us, your children down,The harmony you taught us is no more,Your children have learnt the little art of unleashing terror,

Unfortunately on your very siblings,Pain is all we feel and grim is what we see,Blood is what we pay for being your children,Oh! Mother, spread your wings and redeem us, to rise and shine again.

The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But now the theory goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose– But were always a rose.